Of Chips
by misaditas
Summary: Set new Doctor series, after The End of the World (episode 2). A little lightness was needed. Please read & review!
1. Ketchup

It was a typical spring day; the sun was bright and little fluffy clouds scuttled across an azure sky. There was a breeze, though enough heat filtered down to stop the day feeling cold. Still the temperature was such it was comforting to cup the carton of chips and warm your hands.

Rose sat on the railing, one foot hooked under the lower bar, the other swinging carelessly. She watched the passing bustle of people and shifted slightly as the cold of the metal reached her skin through her jeans. She bit into another chip, tasting copious amounts of salt and vinegar. Licking her lips, she pondered ketchup and giggled.

"What's funny?" The Doctor had leant his elbows on the railing and was watching the boats. As well tormenting the collection of pigeons and seagulls that were eyeing up the chips. They were edging closer even now, beady black eyes hungry but wary, looking for an opening.

"I was thinking about ketchup," said Rose.

There was another squawk and flurry of wings.

"How is ketchup funny?"

"It's not. I was just wondering whether to get some and then realised I've just see the world blow up and I was worrying about ketchup."

There was a pause as he just looked at her. "You're weird," he informed finally.

Rose sniffed. "He travels in a blue box and he calls me weird."

"No, contemplating ketchup is weird."

"It's an allegory," Rose told him airily.

"Right."

"It is. It represents what everybody wants but they don't really need."

"But of course. How did I not see that?"

"Don't know. Oh, watch out for the…"

"Oi!"

"Seagull."


	2. Plaster

The walk back to the Tardis involved a convoluted route taking in a cash machine, a sewing shop and a chemist as Rose gathered supplies and trailed a moaning Doctor in her wake. By the time they had reached the blue box, she was tired and irritated and had a headache threatening.

Shoving the Doctor inside, Rose let the door slam shut.

"Sit!" She cut off his protest. She rooted through the plastic carrier bags, noting with only the smallest satisfaction that he had indeed sat down. "And take that off," she added in a gentler tone.

"Can't," came the plaintive reply.

"Oh for crying out loud. Here." Kneeling beside him, Rose helped the Doctor out of the jacket and examined the damage. "It's not so bad," she assured him.

"What about me? I'm dying here."

Rose rolled her eyes and opened a box. She pulled out an antiseptic wipe and deftly cleaned the back of his hand. "I dunno," she said. "You manage to save the Earth and a space station without a scratch but come off worse from an argument with a _bird_."

"I'll have you know birds are extremely dangerous. Nearly had my hand off."

It wouldn't have done to laugh, so Rose bit her lip and made a show of examining the injury. She still hadn't figured out quite how he'd managed it, only that when the seagull had swooped and stolen his chips it had somehow caught the back of his hand. Either beak or feet, Rose decided as she looked at the scratches. They were hardly life threatening. At least, she didn't think so. The worse of it was where his thumb joined his hand, where the scratch ran deeper and still bled.

Rose found the plasters and pulled out one of a reasonable size. Stripping off the backing, she carefully applied it to the Doctor's hand. "There you go," she said, sitting back and admiring her handiwork.

He lifted his hand and stared at the plaster. He moved his thumb experimentally. "Oh."

"All better now?" Rose asked dryly. She picked up his leather coat and used the wipe to clean it of salt and vinegar and seagull droppings.

"I suppose so."

He was still annoyed; she could hear it in his voice. She supposed she'd be annoyed too if she could travel through time and space at will yet still end up being bested by a bird. The stupidity of it hit her hard. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip.

"Rose?"

She shook her head, not daring to answer.

"Rose?" There was genuine concern in the Doctor's voice now. He grabbed her. "Hey, no. Really, I'm fine."

The last of her resolve crumbled and even with a hand crammed against her mouth, the noise was unmistakable. The Doctor's hand froze in the action of comfort. "Well, really," he said huffily.

Rose wiped the tears of mirth from her face.

"Sorry."


End file.
